Amelia Pond & Illusional Schism
by bowtiesandredhair
Summary: Plagued by a strange slew of dreams, Amelia clings to the only taste of reality she can find. Yet even then her imaginary friend can't seem to save her from the dark-eyed nightmares.
1. Dreaming

Amelia Pond lay quietly in the nook of her bed. The restless night had left her blankets sprawled across the soft skin of her stomach and neck, though the majority found its home across the marble floor. She contemplated every single thought as she tried not to spend so much concentration on her eyelids remaining shut in the darkness of the room. Among them, past the throbbing of black, screeching of silence and the morbid offspring of the two, her head and every voice in it fell on the face of the Doctor.

Yet it was only a faint image. He was smiling. No, his face was emotionless as he stood in front of her, his eyes flickering from olive to brass, and he held something in his warm, steady hands. No, they were empty, and hung at his side. His tweed coat had been carelessly dropped at his feet, and he stood straight up, almost uncomfortably, and his thumbs gently tugged against the clips of his suspenders.

The more she began concentrating on the single image, the quicker it dwindled from her mind and was lost in the blackness. Her lips lightly pursed in frustration, and there was a faint stinging in the corners of her eyes. Amelia bit the inside of her lip as her right hand clenched an edge of the blanket, yet when her mind instructed it be pulled over her face, her hand froze and the grip weakened until the soft fabric slipped from her fingertips.

Dark brown hair. No, lighter. Short, brown hair. No, longer than usual. Green eyes glistening under the hairless mounds where eyebrows should be. Yet it flickered to brown eyes and his tweed coat was securely wrapped around him, and he held an envelope between the fingers of his left hand.

Blindly, Amelia fished once again for the edge of the blanket and her hand hesitated questioningly as her mind mistook the cold, smooth floor for bitter, soft skin. She paused, and her fingertips unconsciously brushed against it once more. No, mistaking the bitter, soft skin for the cold, smooth floor. The throbbing of her temples, coupled with the empty pounding in her chest, she disregarded its gentle brush against her hand, and instead, slowly reeled her arm back to the safety of the settled bed.

She enthrallingly watched his damp lips move in creation of words, and dryly swallowed as his tender voice refused to accompany it. Amelia felt herself quietly pant under her mess of long, red hair and her eyes softened at the image of the Doctor raising his arm to her, presenting his right palm, and a smile slowly spread. _Flick. _He stood with his back to her, and his coat obeyed the strict position of his folded arms, his shoulders slightly hunched, and she felt the crisp of her breath as it left her lips.

An echo rhythmically knocked in her ears and she felt the fading consciousness of her arm land across her bare stomach, yet both were quickly cloaked with the thin layer of soft fabric. For a mere second she felt a smile spread inside of her and it bled instantaneously into his and then shocked from her head. A small bead of sweat, she felt, ran down her throbbing temple, and she vaguely felt it disappear, soaked into whatever cloth just as his face soaked back into her sight.

It had become more clear, as he quickly, and yet slowly, led his tongue across his lips and pressed them firmly together. Her mind had become more clear, and the expression and light of his eyes danced in front of her, though he stood motionless.

"_Amelia…_"

She could almost hear his voice, and she felt her fingertips against a thick layer of glass as she tried to listen more intently. His skin slowly blurred, and his hair color faded, and his crimson bowtie unraveled itself to fall swiftly from his neck. Yet these things, his left hand folding to reach inside of his pocket, the stitching of his right cuff slightly torn downward, both shoes messily left untied with one revealing a spotted sock whilst the other a plain grey, she threw her insight and curiosity to ruin with these screaming details, and she vacantly stared.

Her hand lightly gripped the edge of the blanket and held a quiet breath and she felt her body slowly move forward in the blackness, freefalling through consciousness. His lips. His pink, damp, delicious lips silently curved and dropped and pursed and as she stared at the blurred figure, as her skin trembled in the fall, the thought that bled into the canvas of her eyes and the words that carved into her tongue were,

"_Fuck, _I need those on my skin."

_Flick. _He stood there, smiling that coy smile, and her exchange faded as the dark blood quickly ran down his forehead, though he still smiled as it dribbled down his chin. The screaming fall tore the blankets from her skin and the cold, smooth floor aggressively bashed into her forehead. For once that night, her mind screeched silent, and reality stepped over her, uncertain of whether to help her up or drag back the blanket to cover her corpse.


	2. Hold Me

Strangled sunlight slowly peered past her eyelids, and she vacantly felt a frantic hand fill into hers, and gently guide her off the cold floor. Faintly, Amelia felt it hesitantly dab her forehead, and the incoherent voice muffled, what she believed were, reassuring words as a strong arm wrapped around her waist and the other intertwining with her left arm. She felt as though, if she had the consciousness to see for herself, they were dancing in the blackness, and they were beautiful and graceful and the crowds watched them with baited breath for every single moment their eyes met.

Her companion led her across a familiar sounding floor, and into a smaller room where he gently sat her down, and caressed her face and hair. The only depth she felt gave her the faintest of a small smile, and the running faucet that came as white noise. The warm, steady hands cradled her face, and she breathed in his scent.

"_Amelia_" He uttered when he had steadied his breath, and immediately dismissed his panic to concentrate away the agonizing duel he felt inside of his Gallifreyan chest. "_Pond, can you hear me at all?"_

Almost instantly, she produced somewhat of a stupid smile, and her eyelids slowly flickered open and she watched as he quickly swallowed away his suffocating fear, and replaced it with a mask of unwavering expertise.

She watched his eyes as he gently began wiping the dried blood from her forehead, and finally noticing the grip that lightly trembled around her right forearm.

"Hello, Doctor." She said distantly, and he paused to stare for a moment, quickly snapping himself back into carefully stroking her forehead. "If only you'd ditch the _bowtie_…..then with this you really could be….taken as a medical professional."

With each pause she took for a quiet breath, his touch became softer and his eyes layered with more self-loathing, and he reached under the sink for a large bandage.

Her vision became clear, and she blinked quickly until his face and every small, faded freckle she had noticed before, was as obvious as the eyes looking into hers.

"Amy," He said softly, and then twitched back for a moment, standing up to place the bloodied cloth in the porcelain sink. The Doctor took only a second to stare at his reflection, yet she caught the shadow that lingered past his face.

"Doctor, it was just the throws of the TARDIS." She said quickly, yet her voice was still quiet, and he stopped himself from darting over to her when he saw that she was helping herself up. "Got a bandage for me, yeah? Then again, it's so dried over I'm sure I don't really need one. Best kind of injury to have." She chuckled weakly to lighten his mood, an opportunity he normally would've leapt at, yet he just turned away and nodded.

"Doctor, what is it?" Amelia ignored the nauseating feeling in the pit of her stomach and took a step towards him. "You get sick at the sight of blood, do ya'?" She barely had a smile on her face when he turned his head back to her.

"We borrow, bend, and mostly break time. We woe it, and seduce it, and abuse it." He shook his head to himself, and firmly began massaging the hairless mounds below his forehead. "We rip it and hoard it from reality."

"Doctor, I don't—"

His voice raised, "We take it, and tear it, and soak our hands in its blood. We wear its skin as a cloak for our comfort, and its heart as a compass we constantly disregard."

"What are you—"

His voice raised even more, "It is a child taught the laws of life, and we shroud around it at night and slit its throat and we hang its body over the door of its loved ones! We sacrifice every ounce of its vigorous soul to feed our unquenchable desire!"

Suddenly, he reached and grabbed her arms and pulled her closer to him. She stifled a fearful breath and watched herself in his eyes. "Doctor, what's wrong? What are you talking about?"

Just as soon as the words left her lips, he twitched again, and released her as his tongue rapidly shot out and returned to his mouth, and his eyes flickered and he combed back his bangs with his fingers. He leaned against the long wall of her bathroom and stared down at his feet, until looking up at her with an expression that held several emotions at once.

"We borrow time." He said, and nervously smiled, and Amelia noted that he had just "erased" his outburst from his current consciousness. "We borrow time and bend it and we believe ourselves to not be bound to it. Yet every 'correction' is eventually corrected. Or re-corrected, if you like. We see everything and we know everything and that-." The Doctor casually glanced to the place next to her bed where he had found her, and he concentrated on the small mess of blood on the floor. "Time has its way of eluding even the so-called 'lords' of it. The revenge starts in little steps. But this weight we accumulate eventually drags us down, and we can't run from it forever."

Slowly, he looked back to her, and she tried to hide her confusion and concern. He smiled lightly, "That's the knockout, Pond. As much as we bend, and break, and bullshit time, it always ends, and then we're nothing, and then we die." His eyes drifted away, and his body followed out of the bathroom and down the sloop of stairs that led out of her bedroom.

"Wait, what was that talk of time for?" She uttered as she followed him out, the ache of her forehead slowly stirring, and her eyes inadvertently flickered from a sting of pain.

"That was for me." He said, "To make me finally acknowledge it."

She watched as the back of his head faded into the shadows of her doorway, and she contemplated the faint presence she felt holding her from walking after him.

"Doctor…" Her voice petered to a whisper, and yet her eyes fixated to the shadows, unwavering.

The pain of her forehead slowly returned, and she gently clutched her stomach as she hung her head in submission to nausea. She leaned back into the bathroom, and exhaled slowly, feeling her body slowly grip the sides of the sink to balance herself from collapsing. Her red hair lightly shimmered from the lights, and her eyes fluttered shut.

_I just want you to hold me, even if it all is just a lie. I want more. I want your arms around me. I want your eyes. I want your smile. I want your scent. I want your touch. I want your truth. I want your lies. I want your lips. I want your-_

The faint knocking of footsteps stirred her from her thoughts, and her hair flickered past her eyelashes to see his face inches from hers. Amelia slowly drifted away from him, yet he calmly followed, and with a quick movement he led her close and kissed her. She believed it to be cliché, thinking she felt some sort of sparks on her lips, and her skin lightly shivered with his hand swooping around her neck and gently holding a mess of her hair between his fingers.

For a moment, they just coasted in the silence, until finally she felt something inside of her snap, and they both released a quick breath as they tore through the open air to kiss without thought or restraint.

It was different. He was different. As she tried to concentrate on his hand slowly, almost hesitantly, releasing his grip of her hair, and brushing back down her neck, she couldn't help but disregard it to analyze what exactly was happening.

His mouth was different, and it would've put her on edge if she wasn't clutching as desperately as he was. That, and the fact that she settled to be blissfully ignorant of thought itself, starving from air yet overflowing from something else. Her attention was diverted to his hand as it paused at her shoulders and felt its way under the thin layer of clothing to brush against her warm skin. They separated almost frantically, and she accidentally moaned as his tongue slid out of her mouth. Amelia pressed her lips together and kept her eyes closed, fearing that it would only take another glance for him to disappear.

He watched as she was drowning herself in embarrassment, and all he could think to do was smile. And never relinquish his hold. Her skin felt like water to his deprived fingertips, though his lips remained excruciatingly still in desire to taste more of her and when she finally glanced up at him, he felt every wall he buried himself in was screaming.

"Are you all right?" He asked in a very quiet voice, his eyes now searching every inch of her face in desperate attempt to avoid eye-contact.

Her eyes lightly fluttered, yet didn't blink, "Are you?" She replied just as quietly, and his face somewhat darted still and he blinked rapidly to bury whatever had arose.

It was desperation. No, deprivation. That seemed simpler. Slowly they released each other, and stood awkwardly in the silence.

"I suppose I'll . . . ." and he turned around in a flinch and combed his hair back as he quietly sighed.

"Wait, Doctor." She said quickly.

He turned his head back hesitantly, and choked the desire for her to coming running at him and delving her mouth into his, his arms smoothing under her simple clothes and touching the skin that burned him, lifting her off the ground with her legs wrapped around his waist, tightening as she arched into—

"I had a nightmare."


	3. Everything?

Amelia Pond stood rather awkwardly as he silently stared at her.

"What sort of nightmare?"

She lightly smiled at his question and the fact that he immediately he threw himself into his serious, protective mode. Though it wasn't exactly the time for her to watch him and feel some sort of importance about herself, she casually shook her head, "Opposite of a good-mare." She said playfully, coupled with a nervous laugh, so that her smile could break once more and it wouldn't bear a different assumption.

The Doctor humored her a small smile, yet his eyes were filled with unusual concern, almost as if he had feared that something like that would regrettably happen.

"Did this nightmare cause your injury?" His tone seemed to borderline anger, and she quickly shook her head to try to put him at ease. "You're lying."

Although his expression boiled with self-deprecation, she couldn't stop herself from trying to lighten the mood, even when she didn't mean to. "Rule number one?" She blurted before she could stop herself, and she quickly hung her head. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

In the seconds it took her to glance back up at him, his face was already inches from hers and he stared with such intensity that it put her on edge.

"Of course you should've." He whispered, somewhat laced with hurt.

The Doctor broke his gaze and glanced around the rather small bathroom, squinting at the copper walls and comfortable décor that he would make note to rearrange whenever he found the time. The longer he looked away, the more uneasy her eyes on him had made him.

Without a warning, he stepped back from her, his eyes remaining on the floor and he began to briskly walk out of her room. "Gather your things, Pond." He said sternly.

She followed after him with the same pace, "Why?"

Amelia stopped only a mere second before he did, and barely avoiding running into him. He turned around and fished his hands in his coat pocket, effortlessly taking out a small apple. "Do you really want me to say it?"

For a moment, she just stared at the carved apple in his hand, and suddenly looked up at him. "That's not the one I made you." She said frankly.

His scoffing-flinching mannerism took over, and he stuttered a response, "W-Well of course not! Yours got all….withery and brown, and it was starting to smell."

"That also looks like a wax apple." Amelia gave him a curious, 'Have you been eating wax fruit again?' look, to which he scoffed as he flinched once more. "You're not supposed to eat those."

"I know that!" He announced quite loudly, and very defensively, his arms lifted in the air as if to say, 'It was _one_ time, will you ever forget about it?', and he tossed the apple up, expecting it to fall back in his hand, yet she swiped it before it could.

"It looks familiar though."

This time it was a nervous, sentimental-denying twitch, and he unsuccessfully tried to swipe it back. She held it firmly as she sifted through the memories, and finally her mouth somewhat dropped and her head darted up. "These are from my kitchen when I was a little girl!" She said, sounding more offended than flattered or self-conscious.

"You weren't awake when I took it." He shrugged. "Obviously didn't miss it."

"No, I definitely noticed this was gone." She lifted it up to his face, "It's a tomato, ya' _moron._"

The Doctor's eyes narrowed, "What." And he took the wax fruit in his hand and inspected it. "Well it definitely looked like an apple eighteen years ago. Must've…..seen the salad dressing." He lightly shook his head disapprovingly at it, and returned it to his pocket.

They spent the next few moments just staring into each other's eyes, reading each other's minds, and knowing that none of it would matter, even if they stayed the way they were. Amelia reached out her hand to his, and he reluctantly took it, they both nodded reassuringly, and slowly they left her room.

The way to the console room was shorter than they expected, and they stopped in front of the stairs that would lead her back to her life. If she could ever call it that. She stared at the door somewhat curious of its design, ignorant to him watching her in the corner of his eye. The same sentence, or rather excuse, hung on both of their tongues, yet they both no longer had the cowardice to say it. Instead it throbbed inside their heads, tearing through their very sanity.

He looked away from her, and of course, that was the moment she looked at him. She watched as the sentence festered around in his chest, closing his eyes as he slowly mouthed the words for practice. Amelia watched him practice them wordlessly, and for a flash, she felt a jolt of something screeching its way to her consciousness. Yet before she could open her eyes to it, she squeezed his hand just as he took a breath to speak. He tightened his eyes shut, and knew without even looking at her, she was gently shaking her head.

"We could." She said quietly, intertwining their fingers as she brushed the inside of his hand. "We could run, and we could laugh, and we could live, and we could-" She stopped herself, and stared back at the door. "But you can't. Because even if we see _everything _together, even if we do everything, if anything should happen, you're going to kill yourself over every moment that was meant for life. You're going to replace every feeling with death. You're going to allow a bad thing to make the good unimportant and they're not going to matter to you because you'll drown yourself in regret and guilt. You said yourself that Time Lords borrow time, and it eventually catches up to them and the people they love are the ones who pay the price. But you can try and stop being the martyr; they're not the ones who suffer. The only thing I see is you killing yourself over a bop on the head, because you're terrified that you'll soon add my name to the list of the ones you've 'failed' and 'lost'."

Amelia brought his hand with her as she turned to stand in front of him, "But honestly, Doctor. You believe you could ever lose me?"

His eyes were still closed, and she lifted her hand up to his face and kept it to his skin. "You've lost so much, haven't you?" She gently played with his hair, and he felt the sentence throb even more viciously at her touch. How could he ever let her go? Yet how could he not? "Sad boy." She whispered, and finally he opened his eyes. "I love you, Doctor. And whether or not the rest, time can't kill that."

"Whether or not the rest?" He murmured.

She felt a shrill of reality, and her hand began to fall from his face, "Doctor, it doesn't matter—"

He quickly grabbed her wrist as it hung from his chin, and held it tenderly still. "How could I not? Through everything," He paused, and reviewed every inch of her face as he lightly shook his head. "_Everything. _How could I resist?"

Amelia nervously smiled, "I can think of a few dozen reasons."

He quietly murmured, "So can I."

She leapt at the chance to lighten the mood, and casually pulled her hand from his face and playfully shoved his shoulder back. "Shut up." She lightly laughed, and he found himself joining her, the way her face held a smile and her eyes lit up, it could buckle his knees and break his hearts. Yet he settled for the lie they both smiled through as they walked to the TARDIS door.

"Pond, you be save, all right?" He forced as much of a best friend tone as he could, and buried the thrashing of fear in his chest.

She nodded, and smiled, and it caught onto him. "You take care of you. And remember," She unlatched the door, "Wherever you are in the vastness of everything, doing whatever it is you do," forcing to give him almost a motherly 'I know you do bad things, young man' look as she raised her eyebrows at him, "Through the diamond seas, and the stars that burn ice, and the statues that love-hate relationship with eye-contact. Throughout everything that ever was, is and will be." She leaned in, and pressed her forehead against his. "I'll always be waiting." And she pulled back to quickly kiss his forehead before he could see the pain-stricken tears in her eyes.

The Doctor closed his eyes as tight as he could, as he felt her gently tug on his bowtie, yet he opened them to only see a wave of red hair slipping through the shutting door.


	4. Doctor?

Amelia Pond jolted from her bed, tearing past the blankets that had idly lay across her, and as her consciousness returned, she mindlessly stared at her trembling hands. Before her thoughts could even mutter his name, a voice brightly greeted her as it entered the room.

"Oh, it's about time you're up, Pond!" said the Doctor as he came round to her bedside, immediately kissing her on the mouth with a strange morning passion, and she felt herself kissing him back almost desperately.

She pulled herself away, her eyes looking back at him for only a second to see his most sincere smile fade into concern. "What's wrong?" He leaned beside her and placed his hand on her damp cheek. "Are you all right, what's got you crying? What happened?"

"I don't know." She said quietly and hung her head away from him in confusion.

"Did you have a bad dream?" He began brushing his fingertips under her ear, and his lack of personal space left her uncomfortable.

"I can't exactly say." She admitted blankly, trying to move away from him to gain some sort of perspective. Yet as her eyes surveyed the room, she knew it to be hers. It was the TARDIS room the Doctor had made her. Its most distinguishing feature was its shiny copper walls, and largeness. He had always wanted to make her marvel with how large he could make her room, and then proceed to say, "A room within a hallway, within a closet, within a library, within a wardrobe, within a time machine within a police box. Have I impressed you yet?" To which she'd conceal her smile and reply dryly that he hadn't. But now as his scent filled the air, and his skin gently brushing against hers, everything seemed normal, and yet not at all.

"What was your dream about?" He leaned in to kiss her ear and take in the scent of her hair as he pulled it aside to reveal her bare shoulder blade.

She held her breath and closed her eyes, her skin shrilling as he began tenderly kissing it. "I-I don't think I can remember." She lied only somewhat, believing she could try if only he'd stop. Then again, she'd never think to ask. His lips felt like divine fire and it relentlessly stirred something dormant inside of her, and it ached and it screeched and she felt her grip of vague sanity slowly slip. His warmth, him being next to her-

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second." He spoke between each kiss, and finally stopped when he felt himself become too frisky for the moment. He rested his chin on her shoulder, and she turned to look at him in the eyes, ignoring her desire to just put reality on a shelf and succumb to the light saliva that had developed on his lips. "You're Amelia Pond." He said proudly, and smiled that sincere smile again as he leaned to press their foreheads together, and she felt the throb in her chest as his mouth drifted slightly ajar, inches from hers. "You can remember things that never happened. You can see things that others can't. One of the reasons I simply can't resist; you use the line of reality as a skipping rope. Sit and wave to those bound to it as they're taken up in the balloon, yet you model it together into an animal."

She scoffed self-deprecatingly, "No, that sounds like something you do, Doctor."

Immediately, he looked at her with a confused expression. "What?"

Amelia returned the expression, and smiled nervously, "Oh, what is it then? Don't like to be so easily defined? I thought it was pretty spot-on for how you are."

"No, it's-it's not that."

Concern filled his eyes, and he gently rubbed his thumb across her skin. "You called me 'Doctor', you haven't done that in a long time." He paused in thought for a second, "Well, not _that _long of a time." He murmured, and she again returned the expression as she saw him start to blush.

"Doctor, what are you talking about?"

He looked at her coyly, "Do you really not remember, which is unbelievable because of the certain…consistency, and the…well, intensity. But uh," He lost his train of thought as he flashbacked to the poorly lit moments of them sliding their skin together until their combined sweat gave them another reason to remain intertwined and panting. He felt his way up her thigh as she playfully bit down on his lower lip, slowly releasing it and he thrust into her, and they both quickly paused to share a relishing moan, and smiled through their kiss as they panted.

"Oohh, _Doctor._" She crooned in his ear and gooseflesh erupted on his skin, shoving himself inside of her again as he led his mouth to her hair-wrapped neck and cherished the scent of it, until she rolled on top of him and the feeling of her kissing every inch of his chest left him impatient for her mouth.

"_Doctor._"

Instantly, he felt the sting of flesh against his cheek, and she watched as his eyes flickered back. His face darted back and nervously smiled, and then it finally registered.

"Wait, did you just slap me?"

She tilted her head accusingly, "You had that face."

"What face?" He forced an innocent, almost blank stare, yet it quickly broke into another nervous smile as she was obviously unimpressed. He hung his head, and combed his hair back, in a futile attempt to distract her.

"Now you've made me self-conscious of calling you 'Doctor'. What the hell do I call you then?"

Amelia gave into her frustration, and crawled out of bed, releasing a mixture of a sigh and scoff as he leeched onto her wrist and followed closely behind her.

His breath was hot against her bare shoulder blade, pushing her to walk away faster. They reached the long hallway outside of her room, and she closed her eyes as he gently held her up against the wall, his lips drifting towards her jawline.

"Must I again leave you _clues _to remember?" He pressed his forehead on hers, and watched as her eyelids occasionally fluttered from his words. "Oh, my Amelia." He sighed with a smile, and cradled her head in his hands. "You haven't addressed me casually as 'Doctor' in a while because you know me as. . ." He leaned into her ear and whispered, and then gently kissed her ear and her eyes lit open as he pulled back.

She saw a strange glimmer in his eyes, "'Cause you know my name, Pond." He held her chin in between his thumb and forefinger, and he drifted towards her and she felt the rhythmic beating of his hearts as his chest gently pressed into hers.

Immediately, he smiled at her unwavering, unimpressed expression, and his hand dropped from underneath her chin and quickly found her right hand. "Though one of the reasons you're entirely mad, and impossible is because you allowed some tremble of a vague reality to distract you from what's been on your finger since you fell asleep."

Amelia glanced down at her hand as he raised it up, and she looked to him as he started to kneel. An onslaught of emotions overtook her, and suddenly her raggedy man, the one person she dreamed of marrying countless times when she was little, the only man who made her dream of her wedding like normal, frilly girls do, he was kneeling in front of her, holding her hand, and smiling the most sincere smile she had ever seen on his face. She watched with baited breath as he mouthed the words, and in the second she felt her head nod and her tears run from her eyes, she thrust herself forward, and the blankets toppled around her. She sat in the dark of her room, in the throbbing silence as she tried to steady her frantic breathing.


	5. Just Shut Up & Dream

Almost as immediately as she held her uncontrollably sobbing face, a chorus of banging came from the other side of her closed door, jolting her eyes to stare in the suffocating blackness.

She could see the faintest outline of the door being shook with each powerful thrust, and she leaned back against her headboard, holding her knees as she watched the very walls tremble.

It all appeared surreal to her, as her memory gently flashed an image of the Doctor awkwardly holding a wax tomato. She smiled to herself, despite the loud banging at her door. Her eyes flickered the image of the Doctor kissing her bare shoulder blade, and her eyelids lightly fluttered in remembrance of his touch. The door brutally sagged inward, yet surprisingly didn't budge, and she looked at it thoughtfully, and was instantly blessed with an image of the Doctor standing wrapped in a small towel, with a bright, red nose and his shivering made her smile again.

Slowly, Amelia felt herself sink back under the blankets and the faint warmth of her bed, her legs were now intertwined with his, and her face lay on his bare chest. The rhythmic sound of his hearts, how they seemed like envious twins that competed for the louder roar, quickening as she exhaled to watch the hairs lightly dance for her. He wasn't asleep. She could feel it. The way he pretended to absent-mindedly hold her hand, it bled his consciousness over each part of his body. She made note of the times that he inhaled strongly, and exhaled with a savoring, quiet sigh. He was catching the scent of her hair, hoping that it appeared that his breaths were out of desperation for air, and not of desperation for her. It was obvious in other aspects, when he'd silently trace parts of her skin with his hand, stifling the desire to touch with his lips instead. She clung to him, to the feeling of being that intertwined, and to his warmth that spread across her body, and burned through her skin.

With his eyes closed, it sometimes did make her wonder, in the long parts of the night. Yet the moment she led herself into thought, he sleepily hushed her and started to brush against her skin again. He knew it made her lose every train of thought, though his mouth would be more successful, he refrained to satisfy her need for rest. If he only knew, and allowed himself to consciously know, until finally her unintentional whisper lifted his head from the pillows.

The vicious banging seemed to subside, or at least to her, she was preoccupied as she was smiling, biting down on her finger, her eyes fluttering, watching him roll over on top of her, resuming to kiss her longingly, the majority of it with his wet tongue, and she more than welcomed him. His taste seeping into her, it gave her more than one reason to allow her eagerness show. Amelia clung to the feeling, her fingers combing through his hair as they kissed passionately, and him gently, almost hesitantly, positioning correctly, before lightly lowering himself.

She released a quiet gasp in their kiss, and smiled, "Are you afraid you're going to break me?" She softly badgered him, and he silenced her with a more forceful thrust, suckling underneath her jawline. She listened to him pause as he inhaled her scent and warmth, and she brought her hands up to his shoulder blades, impatiently pressing her fingers against his skin. Before she could utter provoking words, he pushed deeper inside of her, and she released a breathless moan, her eyes slightly rolling back, yet even then she couldn't resist as his hesitance still lingered. She shook his trailing lips from her left shoulder, catching his attention, and he immediately pressed his cheek against hers and whispered his hot breath in her ear.

"What is it, darling?" He growled softly through her hair, and she smiled, biting her lip in anticipation of him thrusting into her again.

"I just thought I'd comment that I'm becoming bored, darling." She purred in his ear and he frantically buried the desperation for her voice.

She stifled a moan as he pulled out of her and his body hung over hers, his face appearing almost arrogant. "Thought I'd be considerate and give you time to warm up." He held a faint smirk as she arched an eyebrow at him. "Since you require three hours just to get out of bed in the morning, I only imagined it would take—"

Impatiently, she lifted her head from the pillows to choke off his words with her kiss, yet to her surprise he met her halfway and they combined their breath and their mouths met roughly together, pushing him back into her and he smiled as her fingernails finally clawed into his back. Her moan vibrated on his tongue, and they triggered each other into frantic aggression. She clung to every brush of his warm chest against her breasts, and she disregarded the gooseflesh as he rubbed his hand slowly up her thigh and stomach, pausing to hold her breast as he continued his journey up to her neck, sliding his stomach to rub against hers, with their wild mouths earnestly preoccupied.

They both smiled breathlessly, and they pushed deeper, and held longer until complete and utter exhaustion left him lying beside, remaining intertwined as he rested his face on her chest. She felt him as he slowly began to fall asleep, his breath quiet and steady, his hearts no longer throbbing for freedom outside of his chest into hers, and she gently ran her fingers through his hair, ignoring the faint sound of a persistent tapping.

Her eyes wandered to the door, and she watched it shudder. Its rhythmic movement caught her attention and she felt her breath lengthen as the sound returned and the banging roared through the silence once more.

Amelia lightly smiled, her fingers slowly clutching and releasing his brown hair, his breath lightly purring against her skin. She smiled in knowing, in cherishing his scent and his warmth and his body intertwined in hers. Her eyes fluttered as the doorknob rattled violently, and she inhaled, clutching his hair tightly. She released her breath, and her hand, a mess of sheets.


	6. Something's Wrong

The Doctor clutched her arms tightly, and his eyes were filled with anger. No. Concern. She watched as he pressed his forehead to hers, and he told her something with a kind, commanding voice. No. His teeth gritted with frustration and he shook her, ignoring her quiet words of pain as he overlapped them with his frantic shouting. Yet she didn't hear anything. Her eyes watched his mouth, and the words that danced from his lips seemed the most familiar. He repeatedly shouted, and continuously shook her, even when she tried to break free from him.

"_Amelia,_" his voice echoed through the silence. "_You have to trust me._"

She winced as he tightened his grip on her arms, and shook her as hard as he could, repeating the words that were already engulfed in the darkness.

"_Doctor…_" She whispered, and he paused as if he heard her. "_What is this…_"

Suddenly, he released her, and held her gently. The hairless mounds that made up his eyebrows raised and he smiled the same smile he had when she was seven and he told her that everything was going to be fine. His eyes seemed to whisper that again, and his thumb quickly wiped away the tear that escaped down her cheek. She watched his lips slowly move, and their foreheads leaned together. The warmth palm of his hand found hers, and he whispered his famous words, and for the first time in a long while, she didn't trust him at all.

* * *

><p>With a flicker of her eyelids, the sweet face of her husband overtook her sight and without a second thought, she lunged into his arms and hugged him as tight as she could.<p>

Rory's voice lightly cracked, and he concentrated on steadying himself from being knocked over. "_Oh okay_, Amy. What's wrong?"

She quickly hushed him, closing her eyes tightly to familiarize herself with his hold, and to the single beat in his chest. When she finally let go, she felt somewhat comforted by his cute, modest smile, and she cradled it in her hands, and a small smile became her.

"Amy?" He asked softly, with concern doused in his eyes. "Amy, what's wrong?"

She pondered for a moment, yet quickly disregarded the faint image of being held up against a wall, with the Doctor kneeling in front of her, and the weak touch of his hand as he smoothed up her skin. Almost instantly, she shook them away, and nervously smiled, looking around to take in her surroundings.

"I just had a bad dream, I s'pose." She said distantly, and glanced to their small, green couch that rested in their quaint living room.

"Are you sure that you're all right?" He persisted somewhat frantically. "I mean, one moment you were just sitting by the counter and then you said you had a headache, and you put your head in your hands and you just slipped under your elbows and h-hit your head."

Her eyes darted up to his, and they slightly narrowed, "I hit my head on the counter?"

"Y-Yeah." He stuttered, and then nodded. "Well, you hit your _forehead, _but…" His words trailed off from her mind and he led her to sit on the speckled ottoman that had she bought at an old flea market, against Rory's protests. She looked at it curiously as she brushed it with her fingers, and glanced back up at him.

"I don't think I can remember." She murmured, and glanced back down.

She felt her memories were like a broken record, or a rusted-cover brake, the more she tried to run it in her mind, the more it stuck and reverse and scraped away. But no, it was nothing like that at all.

"Your dream?" asked Rory, cautiously hopeful that it was only the normal case of forgetting one's dreams when awoken.

But her expression didn't change, and he tried to break a laugh, yet only came off like a nervous buffoon, "Or w-what you called this thing?"

Amy stared blankly as a fading image came into her mind, the words of dead slowly forming in her ears.

"I-I called it…..'_Doctor_'." She said finally, and Rory smiled and nodded and he held her hand firmly.

"That's right." He said, "Do you remember why—"

She tilted her head thoughtfully, "After a dream I had. The Doctor. . . . .-He was trapped in this pit." With a sigh, she brought her hand up to her forehead and closed her eyes, and she felt herself fade into the memory.

"_A pit he fell into. He coerced me into dropping down next to him, and told me to give him a boost. I remember the orange ooze sipping through my fingers as he lifted his boot in my hands. He didn't weigh that much, I think though…._"

Slowly, she opened her eyes to see the same ooze wrapping around her hand, and she turned to Rory, yet only saw a dark, brick-like wall, and suddenly she was surrounded by it.

Her eyelids fluttered from the light that shined above her, and she looked up to see a hand reaching down to her.

"_Come along, Pond!_" He shouted with a wide smile. "_Oh, it's only Phlarctyic excretion! Think of it as perspiration from your armpits, 'cept it's really nothing like that; bad example! Whatever you do though, Pond, don't wipe it off on your clothes, it'll never get out and you'll have Kiliorises flocking you like the plague…...'cept not really like the plague. More like a bunch of small little sloth-like creatures wishing to cling to your arms and pump their Anaphlorctyic excretion duplicate through your blood stream until all you can think of are banana-like Hoors._"

"Don't wipe it on my clothes, got it."

As their hands gripped together, the ooze squeezed and gurgled through her fingers.

"_Glehhhhh!_" She exclaimed, and her face turned into a glare when she saw his soundless laugh spread across his face. "Oi, you think this is funny, yeah?" Amy positioned her foot against a brick, to help as he would pull her up, and in the moment he readied his weight, she slightly hung her head and the shadows hid her smirk, and her other hand lifted as far up as she could to grip against another brick.

"Ready?" His excitement was entirely obvious in his voice, with a subtle wave of anxious stinging bursting on his skin from her hand as it desperately clutched his, the matter of him rescuing her, his Amelia Pond, successfully. (Even though technically it was again his fault for the need of it)

She lifted her face, and his shoulders lightly buckled at the sight of her eyes glimmering from the single ray that shined through his hair, he swallowed dryly when he believed her to be looking at him with lust.

Suddenly, their first kiss flashed in his mind, and his mind raced with ideas of how to deal with a reprise of the situation, and he played the rescue in his head, laying on his stomach, pulling her up, her toppling on top of him, her breath on his jawline, the burning trail for his lips. He thought himself to stop it before it got that far, but there was no doubt he'd never truly trust himself when push came to shove.

Her smile grew as she watched him squirm, she never had before, and it exhilarated her to only continue in the quiet moment of her looking at him like that.

"Doctor?" She said slowly enunciating with her damp lips, and he blinked somewhat frantically and bore a nervous smile as he raised his eyebrowless mounds in question. They shared the weight for a moment, and she faked a strain as he readied himself again, and she gripped tightly the brick above her head, biting her lip as he looked at her and wordlessly counted to three. How his skin tortured him and his spine anxiously quivered.

With a single move, his mind played the rescue in his mind again, and he disregarded his failure of refraining, her lips against his and her tongue sliding through his mouth as he hesitantly held her waist. They both blinked, and before he could open his eyes, he felt something topple over him. Yet it wasn't the frame of her body, and it didn't slowly scramble off of him, and it didn't remain against him out of lust.

The Doctor jolted from the pool of Phlartyic ooze, shaking his mouth from the amount that seeped through his teeth and the shock of it causing him shoot backwards, slamming his back against the wall, and a flash of lightning overtook his sight.

"_Bloody fuck!_" His outburst spewed a modest mouthful of it out. He continuously slapped himself in the face with one hand as the other scraped its fingers through his slimed hair and Amy's bursting laugh filled through the pit's echoing silence.

He looked to her with his wide eyes, a mixture of betrayal and shock, and he slowly reached for his bowtie, releasing a heartbroken sigh as he fingers felt it soaked.

Before he could speak, she arched an eyebrow him, and he suddenly saw through his interpretation of a lustful look. He assumed the "I'm going to fuck you" expression was going to be literal, and but her leaning against the curved wall, she couldn't be any more delighted from the alternative.

"Well done, Pond." He said humorlessly. "You finally ruined my bowtie." And he murmured under his breath as his head turned from her. "Among other things…"

Immediately, Amy took advantage of his detached gaze, and quickly muttered, "I hope you're athletic, Doctor. 'Cause I'm not quite done getting your hearts racing."

His eyes drifted to her, and he hated himself for being one of those persons, who took every comment the wrong way, yet she made him into one of them, and he hated it all the more for her abusing it.

Amy effortlessly scaled up the wall, reaching the bricks that were slightly standing out from the others, and before he could run up to stop her, she pulled herself up, and her hair flew over the pit as she turned to look down at him.

"Ooh, Doctor." She pouted, and then quickly gave him a fake, hopeful expression, "Wait, I know! Use your screwdriver!" She nodded as he scowled at her. "Oh, come on, Doctor. You had already planned to use it before, yeah?"

"Very amusing." He replied dryly.

"I think I'll go in the TARDIS, Doctor. Get me a change of clothes." She pretended to wipe dust off her shoulders and his frustration almost buried the feeling prompted by her standing in the light, her hair shining like fire and her eyes goading him.

"You don't have the key!" He announced smugly, and fished his hand in his coat pocket, retrieving the gold key and presenting it with a proud smile.

"And you don't have your sonic." Amy pulled the side of her jacket open, revealing his sonic screwdriver, its head poking out of her pocket. "Besides, I've only seen you use that key like one time."

The Doctor stifled in his stance, and his eyes narrowed, "She doesn't know you." He said in a justifying tone, his hands on his hips, and his head lightly motioning towards the direction of his precious TARDIS, optimistically believing that his old girl would defend him.

"Aren't I that orange-y girl? And don't you just do _this_?" She leaned on one leg, and lifted her right arm in the air, snapping with a grand motion.

Immediately, the TARDIS door creaked open, and a smile spread across her face as he tried to bury the nervous expression that was clear on his. She backed away from his view, and his tongue had some sort of spasm outside of his mouth.

"A-Amelia!" He shouted, and the door creaked shut. "_AMELIA POND, YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME HERE. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO FLY THE TARDIS, YOU IMPOSSIBLE GINGER_!"

"Oh, I'm sure she'll teach me, Doctor!" She shouted back and her voice bled her smile, and he helplessly pushed against the wall as the sound of raspy breathing of the TARDIS shrouded around the pit.

He stood there a bit dumbfounded, and his hands fell from his hips and he awkwardly hung his head, "She stole my companion." He said quietly, touching his hair. "She always _did _want a ginger."

Amy stood around the console, running her hand across the various doodads and what's-its. She smiled as the TARDIS brought a live image of the Doctor frantically trying to climb up the wall on the scanner, sharing in her fun game of torturing him.

"How about we take our time?" She said quietly, the smile not wavering as she watched him curse at the wall and fish through his coat pockets, throwing a weird assortment of knickknacks at it. "Let's give him hell, sexy."

Immediately, the TARDIS chirped flirtatiously, and several levers at a time began whirring and jolting from side to side, and Amy found her usual seat as its shaking grew in confidence.

She felt her surroundings slowly fade, and she was saddened as the purring of the TARDIS was nothing more but a faint whisper; and all that was left was a single, defiant thought.

"_Getting back at you for shoving your disgusting boots in my hands? Cool."_

Amy blinked through the darkness, and she opened her eyes to see Rory standing over her, with a combined look of concern and relief. She had finally woken up, and she found herself lying in a white bed, in a white room, with a stone-faced nurse standing by the door.


	7. Doctor who?

Amelia mustered a breathless cry from the strange pain that began stirring with each passing second, "Rory?"

He immediately came to her side and held her hand, "It's all right, Amy. I'm here."

Her eyes nervously glanced to the nurse, yet still spoke to him. "Where am I, Rory?"

She watched as the nurse tried to drift out of the room unnoticed, though it only alarmed her more. Rory gently squeezed her hand, reaching with his other to drag a chair to her bedside, and he scooted close to her face to give her some sort of comfort. Yet she felt none. Her eyes blinked frantically on their own, and her breath felt tainted with something that tasted strange to her, and the thin sheets tucked around her body seemed to look at her with patronizing eyes. The "calming" pictures of sailboats that hung on the blank walls moved in the painted blue and she could almost hear the ocean if she let herself focus on them. But she forced herself not to, and with the faintness that danced in her veins, it didn't require much effort to lay motionless with each object blurred from sight.

When he gently squeezed her hand again, her eyes drifted from the empty doorway to the velcro bracelet that had been secured around her wrist. She squinted past it to see a wrap of bandages, and she darted her eyes up at Rory.

"Where am I, Rory?" She asked again, and quickly became impatient with his 'fluff' of trying to calm her before saying anything.

"Amy, please relax." He said softly, bringing her hand up to his cheek, yet to her it only sounded of condescension. "I don't want them to have to sedate you again."

Her eyes narrowed defensively, "That sounds a lot like a threat, Rory."

He held her hand firmly, and if she disregarded everything else, she knew that this was her Rory. "No." He said sternly, protectively, as if he would fight them away wearing his Roman Centurion outfit if he had to, full-force to protect his wife. His expression somewhat eased her, though only somewhat.

"You've been unconscious for over a week." He said regrettably, and his eyes lightly dampened as he replayed the moment he found her, lifeless on the floor, with a kitchen knife laying idly in her relaxed hand, the small pools of blood that had settled around her.

Rory closed his eyes tightly to black out the image, and the terror as he carried her limp body out of their home, and placed her in a gurney and watched as she was swarmed by paramedics.

It comforted her even more to see the sincere pain in his eyes, and she slowly softened, brushing his face with her hand. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

She hesitantly shook her head, "I can't exactly say." And the howling curse of the Doctor lightly brushed inside of her head. "I don't know. The last thing I remem—" She stopped herself, and her eyes lightly fluttered.

"Mr. Williams?" a voice inquired from the doorway, secluded behind the condescension-colored curtain, and she immediately watched as its hesitance was thrown out with Rory's permission to enter.

Amy's eyes trailed up from the pair of shoes that slowly slipped from behind the curtain and the rest of the body followed. There, standing erect, looking professional and distantly sympathetic, with his hands resting in the deep pockets of his long, white coat; the doctor. Her Doctor. She squinted out the blurriness, and lightly smiled at the thick, furry beard that settled around the majority of his kind face. He politely returned her smile, and nodded to Rory, whom returned the wordless, testosterone-awareness greeting.

"Hello, Mr. Williams." said the doctor formally, and then looked to Amy. "How are we feeling today, Mrs. Williams?"

His polite, detached smile choked away every comfort that his presence gave her, yet his eyes remained entirely familiar and mesmerizing.

"Doctor." Rory forced a manly tone, oblivious to Amy's quiet snort at his attempt. "I'm sorry, I don't know—"

"Koogler." The doctor said quickly and his tone held a faint sense of being previously criticized over it, though his face appeared to now come to expect it, though despite it, Amy still felt like it bothered him.

"_Koogler_?" repeated Rory in disbelief, a small smile spreading in the corner of his mouth and he quickly looked to Amy for approval of his oncoming short-laugh, though surprised when her face remained unmoved.

"Yes." said the doctor humorlessly, and then looked back to Amy, and caught her giving a disapproving glance to her husband when he nervously looked to the floor. "It's quite all right, Mrs. Williams It's definitely not the first time."

"It still bothers you." She replied dryly.

He glanced out of the single window and his eyes squinted in remembrance, and quickly shrugged them away. "If it helps you sleep." He looked back to her, almost knowingly, and she felt a shiver down her spine.

She caught a breath, and fed her mild adrenaline, "Depends," Amy murmured haughtily. "What's your first name?"

Rory shot a curious glance from the doctor to Amy, and sunk a bit back in his chair, uncomfortable at the tension in the air, at the smile that slowly grew on each of their faces. He bitterly kept his head slightly tilted and took their stare as a term he had heard, what was it? He looked to the doctor, and casually glanced to his wife. Oh yeah, eye-sex.

"What gave me away?" The doctor's voice broke the long silence of their staring contest, and it was laced a soundless applause, as did his very faint smile.

Amy's eyes narrowed and she lightly pursed her lips, "Although it's quite….unorthodox, and you've dealt with it for a very long time, that's obvious, but you settle for it. In your mind, it's better that than something else. What else could trouble you as long as your last name? Wouldn't be a regrettable action, 'cause then you could simply start anew, and no one would have to know. So that tells me that it's just as perpetual as your last name. It has to be your first name because the stitching on your coat says 'L. Kroogler'. You're trading off, the lesser of two hardships."

He failed to hide his impressed expression, and looked over to the plastic sleeve that kept her medical chart to the wall, walking over to it and sifting through the pages.

"And what if my acceptance was simply in consistently defying the expectations of an odd name?" He murmured as he skimmed down the notes.

"I don't deny you also have those sort of issues as well, in proving your name strong, it becomes a title, and then you must always run past the already high bar. But I don't want to teach you anything new, you're a Psych consult, you need to learn all you can on your own. You don't like shortcuts, yeah?"

He released the page from his fingertips, "I'm an attending." He spoke in a gentle way, as if to give facts to her theories.

"A prodigy." She announced proudly, with a sliver of sarcasm.

"A rather impatient person to nonsense."

"And yet you listen."

"And yet you still talk."

She watched as an unfamiliar flash of someone came into his face, and he glanced down at her chart again, "You attempted suicide, I see." He murmured, and she watched as his face became amused by his offensive tone.

"Your wit is that limited that you resort to attempt a harmful comment? How disappointing."

The doctor looked up at Rory, and his body language was evident to shut Amy out. "Mr. Williams, I would like to speak with you outside for a moment." He faked a polite smile to her as her husband kissed her hand and quietly told her he'd be back very soon. She watched wordlessly as they both left the room, picking her place back on the blank wall and challenging it in a stare, with the murmuring of the two voices just on the other side of the wall.


End file.
